Select Band
by Oscar the Corsair
Summary: Luke goes to a select band and makes some new friends. BoaF/Geronimo crossover.


_A/N: This is a random little bit involving some of my minor characters from my little microcosm. For those of you who haven't read either or both of my stories, the characters are taken from Geronimo and BoaF. I wrote this to explore some of the characters I had neglected, namely Luke but also Carl to some extent, to give some background and to set up future crossovers, probably at Zia. Rae may show up in BoaF soon, so yeah. _

The van swung into the hotel at about five O'clock, having planned to get there before three. From the driver's seat, Mr. Daniels looked back at his cohort and chuckled.

"Red Mountain Pass is a little different in the snow, yes?"  
"Daniels, we tried to tell you that," complained Luke.

"Oh well," said the jazz director, plainly embarrassed, "We're still alive, and that's good."  
"Barely," remarked Kylee, from the seat next to Luke.

The small group had left the high school parking lot with their eccentric driver at seven that morning, planning on reaching Durango in seven or eight hours as they always had. What they hadn't counted on was the fact that snow on the three passes between them meant tire chains and other inconveniences, not to mention Tyrel having to urinate at the summit of Red Mountain.

"We'll still eat at Applebee's like we planned, and we'll decide on going downtown or swimming after dinner. Meantime, let's see how the instruments faired."

They all went around the back and popped open the rear doors. On top of the small pile was a tenor sax case, Kylee's; below it, Tyrel's baritone saxophone, and finally Brandon's euphonium.

"Where the hell is Brandon?" asked Luke.

"Oh, still inside, evidently."

Tyrel, being the tallest, reached over the back of the seat and tapped a sleeping Brandon on the head lightly.

"What?" asked the baritone, "Are we there?"  
"Yeah."

"All right," said Daniels, "Get your gear and let's go to your rooms."

As they moved in a unit, some in-step and some not, towards the hotel, they numbered five; the director, Kylee, Brandon, Luke and Tyrel. They were the select few that had managed to try out for the Fort Lewis Honor Band, that weren't wrapped up in pit orchestra or indoor drumline, which explained their oddness of composure; the baritone squad leader, sax squad leader, assistant drum major and a random sophomore percussionist, Luke. He felt horribly out of place; the other three were incredible musicians and upperclassmen, while he had made bottom chair and was a lowly sophomore. Two freshmen had been selected over him for the indoor percussion; had they been allowed to try out, he would not have made the band.

They had three rooms; Johannes had booked with the intention of a group twice their size. Still, it worked out, with the three boys in one room—Luke had been placed on the floor the moment he had made it—Kylee in another and Daniels in a third. Lagging behind, Luke didn't even attempt to be the one to whom the key was given. Tyrel ended up taking it after a brief argument that Luke didn't try to hear, and the three of them went into their room, Tyrel first, then Brandon, and then a slow Luke. The two juniors claimed beds and began re-arranging the pillows, leaving the ones the didn't want on the bed.

"C'n I take these?" Luke asked sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," said Brandon, "Hey, I wonder if that couch folds out."  
"It might," agreed Tyrel.

"I'll check," muttered Luke, lifting up a cushion. Sure enough, there was a bed underneath, so Luke removed the other cushion and attempted to lift it out. When he failed, Tyrel came over and did it, prompting Luke to hang his head.

"No worries," said Tyrel, "I got family over all the time and I got to open the bed for them."

"'ey, Tyrel," said Brandon, "Let's go downstairs."  
"Yeah, man, let's."

The trio went downstairs, again with the two juniors in the lead and Luke behind them. Kylee joined them on their way to where the van was outside the motel, walking next to Luke but conversing with the other juniors as they made their way to the Holiday Inn's attached Applebee's.

Nathan shivered, even under his letterman jacket, as he walked into the restaurant from the outside. He felt like a hick, wearing the colors of a school like Geronimo out here in the "big city", but he was cold and he could wear the thing wherever he wanted. Next to him, a small girl let go of his arm, also wearing a letter jacket and also cold.

"Oh no," said a kid in front of them, "You two detached. The world will end."  
"The world will end eventually, anyway, Carl," said Nathan apathetically.

"It will end sooner than it would otherwise."

There were five students in their group, plus Dr. Ramirez, a number which frankly surprised Nathan. The fact that a band as small as his would come up with that many honor-band quality musicians was fairly impressive, and he took pride in it. He and Carl had made it on percussion; Lisa, the girl on his arm, on flute; Malcolm, the geeky kid on trumpet; and Kenny, the odd freshman trombone, along with Nathan one of two football players in the band; all in all, fully a fourth of them had made it.

Entering the restaurant from the foyer, the first thing they heard was "Hey look, band geeks!" from a random table in the corner. Dr. Ramirez muttered something to the hostess, who seated them right next to said table.  
"Are we really that obvious?" asked Ramirez of the only adult at the other table.

"We are as well," said the man, "I'm Rick Daniels, of Dirigible High School."  
"Dr. Jaime Ramirez, Geronimo," offered Ramirez, "This is my group for tomorrow."  
"And this is mine," said Daniels, "May I ask, doctor of what?"  
"Music," said Ramirez, "I graduated from Ohio State about five years ago."

"Ah," said the younger director, "Would you like to put some tables together?"  
"If they wouldn't mind."  
"We made reservations for fifteen two months out," said Daniels, "We weren't counting on a drumline competition and a dress rehearsal on the same day."  
"So, a larger school, then?" inquired Ramirez.

"Four-A," said Daniels, "Not huge."  
"I ask because we march about fifteen or twenty," explained the doctor, "Part of why I encouraged my students to do this. Anyways, let's put tables together, let our students mingle."

Luke was delighted at the prospect of new people to talk to; maybe one would be another underclassman. The only one he noted, though, was a freshman trombone, a small, Native kid with a permanent scowl.

"So what instruments are you all on?" Luke caught wind of the question as his thoughts drifted.

"Baritone," said Brandon, gesturing at himself, then at each in turn: "Tenor sax, bari sax, percussion."  
"I thought you had a percussion competition to go to," said the big Native in the letter jacket.

"I, uh, didn't make indoor," said Luke, now doubly embarrassed and ashamed.

The Native crinkled his nose. "Aw, that sucks. Well, at least you get to go here, hang out with me and Carl."  
"Yeah, I could have stayed home all winter."  
"Exactly. You're making the best of it."

"What chair are you sitting?"  
Luke chuckled. "Last."  
"Lucky. You get all the cool instruments."

"Hadn't thought of that." Luke chuckled again; it was clear that the dude was trying to make him feel better, but it was working. It didn't hurt that what he said was true; Luke was playing claves, cabasa, granite blocks and a few other, even stranger things he'd never heard of.

"And, here, I'm stuck on marimba."  
The waiter appeared for their orders, and the dinner continued.

Shedding his jacket to reveal a tanned, lean Apache body naked from the waist up, Nathan made for the pool as fast as he could. It was February in Colorado, and thus cold; the jacket had kept his bare arms warm, but what he hadn't counted on had been his feet, and he was eager to warm them in the water.

Behind him came Kenny, completely bare-chested and barefoot, and not even beginning to look cold. He was still fresh from Geronimo Middle School, where the boys competed to see who could stay in shorts longest in the cold, and thus was virtually immune to anything above zero, while Nathan had had two years to soften and succumb to the norm of jackets, hats and long pants in the winter. Besides that, having received his letter jacket freshman year, he could hardly not wear it, and it had become a second skin to him.

After Kenny was Carl, in a t-shirt and board shorts, ever the white boy of the Geronimo band. He was actually fairly tan, and while he lacked muscle, had very little fat around his midriff; he just felt self-conscious next to the naturally dark skin of his Apache bandmates. Removing his shirt and carelessly throwing it aside, he slid into the water easily.

"Where's Lisa?" asked Kenny of the oldest boy.

"What, you wanna see her in a bikini?"  
"Nah, man, fuck you," snapped the freshman defensively, "I just don't see her."

Nathan snickered. "She's being a girl. Taking a shower, making sure she's squeaky clean so she can jump in the chlorinated water and get even more so. She's not even wearing a bikini, by the way; she's got that weird bikini top and shorts thing."  
"Oh," said Kenny, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"Meantime," said Carl, "I think freshman Friday is long overdue. You, Nathan?"  
"Definitely."

The sophomore proceeded to grab Kenny by the sides of the head and drag him across the pool to the deep end, where he was dunked, and promptly came up spluttering, and grabbed Carl by the waist, lifting him above his head and slamming him back into the water.  
"Ow, shit that hurt," said Carl, coming back up, "I think I got whiplash."  
"Don't fuck with me, white boy."  
"Yeah, yeah."

The game continued for a few minutes, until someone else entered the room, someone who wasn't Lisa. Looking up from the headlock Nathan had him in, Kenny saw that it was the shy percussionist that had been with the other band; unfortunately, he couldn't put a name to the face.

"Luke!" yelled Nathan, "Dude, where's the rest of them?" Of course Nathan would remember his name.  
"Downtown," said Luke, and it was apparent that that had sounded better in his head, "I opted not to go."  
"Why not, man?" asked Nathan, "You gotta stick with your band."  
"I know," said Luke, "But I don't think they wanted me."  
"Bullshit," replied the Native, "They're some kind of lame band geeks if they don't, anyways."  
"That's not really what I meant," Luke muttered, staring into the water, "It's just that they've been doing band together since sixth grade, and I felt like this is their trip and I'm infringing."  
"Dude, you earned this trip, same as them," Nathan assured Luke, "You have every right to go to Durango."  
"No, I didn't," said Luke, as much to himself as to the other, "If the indoor guys had been allowed to try out, then I wouldn't have stood a chance."  
Nathan sighed. "Beating yourself up won't do any good either, kid," he said serenely, "Band is only what you make of it, and right now, you're making it suck."

Luke sighed in turn. "You're right." He turned and sat in a lawn chair, where he would stay until the Dirigible contingent returned.

"Poor kid," muttered Nathan to Carl as he returned to their game.

The next morning came too soon for Luke as he lay, curled up in a tight ball around his pillow, on a thin pad on the floor of the room. Were this a marching competition, he would have been awake; but when he felt his phone vibrate and saw five O'clock through eyes saturated with tears, he decided this was the trip he got to sleep in.

Now, as he woke up again and the clock read six, he decided it was time to get up, if only he could manage it. The juniors were still out cold; call time wasn't until seven, and they tended to wake up fifteen minutes before anyways. Slowly, grudgingly, he took off his covers, worked his way out of their chrysalis, and stood out, stretching stiff muscles and lumbering to the bathroom. He ached from a night on the floor, inside and out, but he put that out of his mind. One thing at a time.

The water was hot and refreshing, and he felt his spirits rise with the steam as it flowed into the bathroom. As his muscles relaxed and the stress of the night wore off, he managed to, for a few minutes, put aside his negativity and look at where he was going in a positive light; he was going to play with some really good percussionists for a day, and not have to sit in symphonic band and listen to the freshmen that beat him talk about indoor constantly. Not only that, but the indoor season was almost done, and with its conclusion., his shame would start to go away. His general feeling was that it would get worse before it got better, but that it would get better.

Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped himself in a towel to go outside and grab his concert dress for the day. It was hanging in the closet of the room, pants even, shirt well-pressed, in stark contrast to the casual jobs his roommates had done. He stepped into his pants first, after his boxers, then his white shirt, tucking it in carefully before tying a half-Windsor around his neck and pinning his tie with a snare drum tie-tack. On the floor were two pair of black socks and his Dinkles, the marching shoes that doubled as his concert attire. Without a sound, he stuffed a pair of black socks in Brandon's pants' pocket and put on his own, followed by his shoes, then went out the door to breakfast, with the intent of bringing back some for his roommates.

When he entered the breakfast area, the Geronimo contingent were there, eating and talking and laughing, dressed like him.

"Hey, Luke," said Nathan, "How'd you sleep last night?"  
"Good," said Luke, "Why?"

"You, uh, fell asleep in that chair," explained a girl, evidently the 'Lisa' that they had been talking about that night, "Nathan carried you up to your room."  
Luke hung his head with shame. Now he was a reject from both groups; great.

"It's okay, dude," said Carl, "Believe me, I've passed out in my fair share of chairs. Wait, did I just say that out loud?"  
Luke chuckled along with the others.  
"I got to get some food," said Luke, "And bring it up to my lazy-ass roomies. Have fun, y'all, see you up there."

"Yeah, definitely," agreed Nathan.

Luke loaded up a tray and took it to his room. As he walked in, the two were all ready awake, and a little flustered to see a fully-dressed Luke, food in hand.

"Breakfast," said Luke.  
"Oh, sweet," said Tyrel, "We coulda had another fifteen minutes of sleep. Oh well."  
"Dig in," said Luke, setting his tray on the bed like a waiter. "You guys remember black socks?"  
"Oh, shit, no," said Brandon, "Crap."  
"I think I saw you put some in your pocket," said Luke, "You might try it."  
"Right."

They ate for a while, the juniors eventually getting up to get into concert dress and out the door. Kylee was all ready at the van, in a white top and black shirt, waiting for them, along with Mr. Daniels.

"You should know that on time is late, boys," said Daniels, shaking his head, "You are all marching band."  
"This ain't marching," said Tyrel, "If I wanted that, I'd-a done indoor."

"True dat," said Brandon.

The five Dirigible musicians arrived in about the middle of the pack. Some musicians were there and warming up individually, but most had yet to come in the door. Nathan and Carl were in the back, looking over the music again to be sure and arranging instruments for the first piece. There were five percussionists; the two of them, Luke, and then a guy with long, black hair and a girl, both of whom Luke had never seen.

"Hey," said Nathan.  
"Hey," said Luke, "What am I playing for this first one?"  
"Looks like tambourine," said Carl, "Sweet part; it's all ready out. We gotta warm up first, though."

The conductor took the podium, and the whole place was quiet as they warmed up. The first piece was entitled "Two Hebrew Folksongs" and began with, wouldn't Luke have known, a tambourine solo. The entire solo was two measures, and Luke was confident he could do it, until the conductor looked at him.  
"Ah, so you're the lucky man," he said, "This solo is vital. It sets the mood for the entire piece and, by extension, our concert. It needs to be very light, very Arabian Nights. Like you're petting a hamster, only tap it instead of stroking; two fingers, slow in, fast out."

"That's what she said," muttered the guy that Luke hadn't recognized, and quickly coughed it out. "What?" he asked sarcastically as the girl gave him a look.

The conductor counted off, and Luke played through the part perfectly, only to be cut off.

"Perfect!" yelled the conductor, snapping his fingers for emphasis, "Everyone, take your cues from him. He knows this piece, all ready." Luke's eyes widened, but he played through it again, and it made sense; the piece was a light, rhythmic, Middle Eastern-sounding song, based almost completely off his rhythm.

The next few pieces were less memorable; he had a few big crashes, and that was it. It only really got interesting when they broke for fifteen minutes.

"Nice job on that solo, man," said the guy with the long hair, "Sounded good."  
"I told you that auxiliary has the best parts," agreed Nathan from behind him.  
"It's true," said the guy, "We haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Jason, from Gunnison."

"I'm Luke, from Dirigible."  
"Rae, from Bayfield."  
"Carl, and this is Nathan, from Geronimo."

"You guys want to get some food?" asked the boy, Jason.

"Yeah," said Nathan, "Woke up too late for breakfast."

The percussion section moved as a unit towards the snack table, discussing their parts in the songs all ready played and those that would be played later on. They were all happy with the selection of songs, particularly the next one, coming up, entitled "Song of Aeolus", which actually featured the percussion for about a third of the song.

"It's all in three-two," said Jason to Nathan as they sat, sipping sodas, "Which makes it a weird piece just in and of that."  
"Well, it's three-two and five-four," replied Nathan, "All it needs is seven-eight to have all the weirdest time signatures."  
"There's always twelve-eight."  
"That's true."

"We're marching a song in twelve-eight," said Luke, "Next year."  
"Really?" asked Nathan, "What song?"  
"Truckin'. It's an arrangement of a Grateful Dead song."  
"Is that your show?"  
"Yeah."  
"Wow. That's awesome."

Song of Aeolus was everything it had promised to be and more. A true percussion piece, it called for vibes, drums and every manner of auxiliary instruments; Luke and Rae were kept busy scrambling to find the next one, let alone playing them. Nathan and Carl on the marimba, meanwhile, were struggling to keep up, and were forever dragging the tempo as their part got more complex. Still, they worked through it and the piece came out beautifully.

Another piece, this one without any interesting parts for Luke or Rae, started up.

"Why do composers hate the percussion?" mused the girl out loud, as they sat on stools and listened to the band.

"Because they're all clarinetists that knew they would never be as good as we are, and so they use composition as a means for their vendetta."  
"That must be it, because outside of marching, we never get anything good, and even then, it's pretty predictable."  
"Where is Bayfield?" Luke had heard of the school somewhere, but he didn't know where it was.

"East of here, about twenty minutes. We were at Junction this year."  
"Oh, that's right. I just didn't know where you were."  
"Do you march?" she asked.

"Yeah. Fifth snare."  
"You have _five_ snares?"  
"Five snares, five basses, five quints. It works out pretty well."  
"We march about half that. Lucky."  
"Small bands have their advantages," Luke assured her, "You get more of your director to yourselves. We have two directors, and they still don't know everyone's name."  
"How big is your band?"  
"Marching? About one-fifty. Total? Closer to two hundred. We have a lot of non-marchers."  
"That's interesting," remarked the girl, "Down here, you march or you don't play at all. It's not really a matter of choice."  
"I wish we had that."  
"Why?"  
"Because the damn non-marchers fill up all the spots in the other ensembles. That's why I didn't--"

He cut his rant short as soon as he realized where he was going with it. He hadn't made indoor because Mike and Sporky were better than him, and no other reason. He refused to let himself blame the system.

"That's why what?"  
"That's why I didn't make indoor drumline. It's not, really, but that was a contributing factor. Personally, indoor exists to keep the outdoor drumline in shape and develop them in the winter; I don't see why they let people that can't be miffed to march in the fall, march in the winter."  
"I see your point," said Rae, "We don't have an indoor, but I see your point."  
The conductor cut off the wind players, and gave a brief speech before letting them go to lunch. Luke met up with his school and they made for the van.

"Hey, uh, sir," said a voice to Mr. Daniels as they piled in, "Can we, uh, get a ride from you?"  
Behind them, Nathan, Carl and Kenny had run up.

"Sure," said Daniels, "We're just going to the cafeteria, though."  
"That's fine," said Nathan, "Our director just kind of told us to find a ride or else walk."  
"Ah, I see. Climb in."  
The did, and the van rolled out of the lot and towards the College Union Building.

"Kind of ironic," said Carl to Nathan, "We come all this way to the big city to eat cafeteria food."  
"The cafeteria food here is good," said Luke.  
"How do you know?"  
"We had band camp here."  
"Oh, cool," said Nathan, "I wish we had an away camp."  
"It's pretty fun," allowed Brandon.

They filed into the cafeteria, alongside streams of other musicians. The food line worked the same as Luke remembered, only this time they paid cash instead of swiping cards. The group worked their way through the line, and then sat down, with Daniels and the juniors sitting at a table ahead of Luke.

"Shit," said Tyrel, "We forgot Luke."  
"No, no," said Luke jestingly, "I see how it is. I'll just sit with the New Mexicans, because I'm not good enough for you. Jeez."

He took a seat adjacent to a chuckling Carl and dug into his food. It was the same pizza from band camp, and it brought back all sorts of memories.

Suddenly, he was aware that someone was sitting next to him. His head shot left and he saw Rae pulling up a chair.

"Sorry," she said meekly, "There wasn't anywhere else."  
"Sure, go ahead," said Nathan.

"I feel like an outcast," said Kenny, "I'm the only brass here."  
"True that," agreed Nathan, "Just because percussion is better."  
"Not. Although, I give you props for that feature in Song of Aeolus."  
"That was fucking hard," said Carl, "Fun, but hard."  
"Yeah, really," said Rae, "How 'bout that tambourine solo?"

"That was amazing," said Kenny, "Who played it?"  
"Me," said Luke.

"Nice job, man. He stopped the whole ensemble for you."  
"Yeah, I know."

The concert was before dinner, but not before a thirty-minute break they'd been given to get ready. Ducking into a practice room, Luke whipped off his sweatshirt to reveal a white V-neck. Unbuckling his pants, he quickly got into the white shirt in his hand, and made for where the other drummers were moving instruments. One of the doctoral students was there as well, directing them to the truck that would move their stuff to the auditorium.

With all the gear on the trailer, they got into Dirigible's van to go to auditorium. Unfortunately, with the doctorate student riding shotgun, they didn't have enough room for all the percussionists. Luke found himself next to the door, three to a seat with Nathan against the wall and someone between them. Rae was the odd one out, and as she climbed in to look for room, the doctorate student looked back.  
"I guess you'll have to choose a lap."  
Luke was ready to laugh when he became aware that something was on top of him that didn't need to be there. The door was shut and his seatbelt re-buckled before he realized what had happened. Looking right, he saw that Nathan was struggling not to die of laughter, and behind him, he heard Carl cracking up. Giving Carl the finger, he steeled himself and they were off.

_Come on, Luke, pretend like you've done this before_. Ironically, he had, during marching season. In the drum lieutenant's Navigator, there were set spots, but one day, the third bass drummer, Curtis, had needed a ride home as well, and rather than reshuffle, the only girl of the bunch, who was also the captain, had ended up sitting in the front seat. With Luke still in it. Still, JJ was Luke's friend, not some random girl he'd just met. He sighed inwardly in disgust at his over-thinking of the situation and stayed steeled.

When they got there and Rae went to get the door, Nathan's levity was still present, but rather than make a joke, he patted Luke on the back.

"Give that man a Klondike bar!"  
"Damn straight!" agreed Carl.

As they moved the auxiliary cart into the stage, Luke heard yelling from an alcove backstage. As he ducked his head in, Rae was screaming into her cell phone. She finally hung up, cutting off whoever it was, and Luke took a step forward. She looked startled he was there, but rather than let an awkward silence start, he spoke.  
"You gonna make it, there?"  
"Yeah, I guess."  
"Who was that?"  
"My dad. He just got in from work and he's all pissed that I'm here and not at home. He said he thought it was just a during the day thing."  
"That sucks. I wish I could offer you a ride."  
"No, he'll come. He always plays the martyr."

"I hate that."  
"I don't mind it. It's just--."  
"It's just what?"

Luke was a good guy. He was keenly, painfully even, aware of this, and of all the hindrances it brought him. He realized that there were benefits to it, but more times than not, he wished he could be like Mike or Magic and just cold-shoulder his way out of everything. But he couldn't, and that was why he was stuck in an alcove with a random girl on the verge of tears. Jesus.

"It's just I wish he would come to my concerts. He lets me do percussion because to him it's a cheap substitute for a son in football. I love him and I wish I could demonstrate for him what I can do."  
"I would love to say something sentimental here, but I'm really lame with that stuff and I would make it worse. Come on; even if your dad doesn't want to hear you play, there's a couple dozen people out there who do."  
She just stood there, still, like his words hadn't sunk in, and so rather than keeping bothering her, he tried levity.  
"Do I have to carry you? It wouldn't be the most awkward thing you've ever done to me, not even in the six hours I've known you."

Rae sat at her computer that night, looking at Facebook, waiting for it to load on her dial-up screen. Dirigible High School, search for Osborne. And there he was.


End file.
